Alexander
She walks out and slams the door.
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I run my hand over my face, frustrated that she found out part of the truth–especially that way. I should never have left her alone in my house. I should’ve known she’d start snooping–she’s so damn stubborn.
I put the files back in the safe and lock it.
She doesn’t know anything. What she saw isn’t important–just insignificant details.
I grab the photo she was holding. I remember the day I took it. I’d gone to rescue her from Omar. Maria had asked me to follow her and threatened me if I ever hurt her little protégé.
I used a moment of distraction to steal the photo.
I was inexplicably drawn to it and couldn’t resist taking it. I didn’t include it in the file on Khalid because it wasn’t useful information–it was just something I wanted to keep hidden.
I’m lost in thought when Aymen walks into the room. I set the photo down on my dresser.
“She knows I used her to get to her father.”
He barely looks surprised.
“She’s smart. She was going to figure it out eventually. What about the rest? Does she know?”
“She went through the safe. She didn’t have time to see everything–and what she did find must’ve seemed suspicious, but not enough to connect the dots.”
“She knows a lot. She’s definitely going to try to uncover everything–especially now that she must be growing a massive hatred toward you.”
He studies me closely.
“She the one who gave you that mark on your cheek?”
“She slapped me.”
“You didn’t dodge?”
“No. She needed to let her anger out.”
She’s going to make me pay, that’s for sure I don’t know how or when–but she’ll make me pay for playing her. She’ll never forgive
me,
“What are you going to do with her now?
“I don’t know. But for my plan to move forward, she needs to stay quiet. If not, everything will go to hell.”
“If she finds out what you’ve done, you know she’s going to burn your balls off, right?”
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If only he knew what I’ve really done….
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If she finds out, she won’t just burn my balls–she’ll blow my whole house up with dynamite to make sure I’m good and dead.
She was easy to control when she lived under my roof, but now she’s a real ticking time bomb.
“I assume she doesn’t want to see you anymore?”
“She doesn’t even want to hear my name. I think I just dethroned her father as the person she hates most.”
He sighs.
“That’s saying something–surpassing a father who sold his own daughter.”
Indeed.
“She’s hurting because of me.”
He hesitates, then says:
“I feel sorry for her. I know I was the first to hate on her, but I talked to Erika and she really likes her.
It’s sad that she always has to fight for her life because everyone wants her dead. She’s been alone her whole life, walking around armed so no one catches her off guard.
It’s too late to go back now, not after what you’ve done to her. But yeah–I feel a little guilty.”
“Don’t start regretting now–it’s not the time. We’re almost there. One piece of the puzzle left, and we can finish this shit. You get it? She talks big, but she won’t hurt me.”
“You sure about that? A wounded woman can be dangerous.”
“She won’t hurt me, Aymen. She loves me more than she admits–I saw it in her eyes.”
“I believe you when you say she won’t harm you. But you will you have the balls to hurt her?
You’re not the same Alexander that came out of prison. We both know–even if she pointed a gun at you–you wouldn’t shoot
back.”
I stare into the void.
He’s right.
I could never hurt my little doll.
Inara
MATHIEU’S APARTMENT
12:34 AM
I’ve been ringing the doorbell at Mathieu’s apartment for several minutes, but no one is answering. He must have fallen asleep.
I’d like to let him rest, but I absolutely need to talk to him.
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I take out the pin I use to hold my hair up and insert it into the lock. After a few small maneuvers, it opens.
“Mathieu?”
No response.
I turn on the light in the apartment, plunged in darkness. My eyebrows furrow as I see the state of his home and sniff the dreadful odor wafting through it.
Everything is upside down–it looks like a tornado hit the place.
The bookshelf is knocked over. All the papers are on the ground, crumpled and torn. His laptop is shattered on the floor. The hard drive has been taken.
The couches have been torn open, the stuffing spilling out.
I grab my weapon. I fight back my gag reflex from the nauseating stench escaping from here.
I walk, avoiding the overturned furniture on the floor. The further I go, the more my heart swells with worry. Something serious has happened. I hope Mathieu is okay.
I search each room–each one left in chaos.
I head toward the bathroom, where the sickening smell is strongest.
My eyes widen: Mathieu’s white cat is lying on the floor, dead. Foam is coming out of its mouth. Its white fur is covered in blood. I can make out a deep cut at its throat.
Who could have done something so barbaric? I turn my head away and take out my phone to try calling Mathieu.
Pick up, please.
I call several times, but no one answers. It goes straight to voicemail.
I hear a noise coming from the living room. When I enter the room, my eyebrows rise.
“Don’t tell me you have anything to do with this mess–I swear I’ll kill you! Where is Mathieu? What did you do to him? Wasn’t what happened earlier enough for you?”
Alexander seems truly surprised.
“Why does it look like a hurricane blew through here? And what the fuck is that smell? Smells like death.”
He has the nerve to talk to me normally after what I’ve just learned about him. This is no time to waste on this guy–every second
counts.
I head for the exit, but he grabs me firmly by the arm to stop me.
I shoot him a deadly glare, trying to make him let go. He doesn’t. He holds my gaze.
“Answer my questions and I’ll let you go.”
“I don’t know what happened here, and I’m trying to find out. That smell is from Mathieu’s cat, who was slit open by some psycho. Happy now? Now let go of me right now–I have to go save my best friend.”
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He widens his eyes in surprise and lets go.
“You’re telling me Mathieu disappeared? But how?”
“Seemed pretty clear.”
“All his files are gone with him, right? My documents too?”
Obviously, he probably came to retrieve all the compromising info Mathieu had on him.
“His computer was destroyed, the hard drive was removed. I don’t give a shit about your stuff! All I care about is Mathieu. Let go of
me!”
“What are you going to do? You don’t even know who you’re up against and you want to charge in with just one weapon. You’re rushing to your death.”
Why is he still playing his little act? Time to end the charade.
“Maybe you know who I’m up against?”
He deliberately dodges the question.
“You don’t get it. You’re going to go up against dangerous people. Stop acting like a kid.”
“No one will stop me from saving Mathieu, understood? If I have to kill everyone who stands in my way–starting with you–I won’t
hesitate.”
“You don’t even know what–or rather who–you’re fighting.”
A realization strikes me.
“Don’t tell me you asked Mathieu to do something related to your secret while everyone is trying to get their hands on that thing! You didn’t do something that stupid, right?”
He sighs.
“Calm down.”
Let’s take that as a yes.
“A psychopath came into my friend’s apartment, trashed it, slit his cat’s throat, Mathieu is missing because of you, and you seriously want me to calm down?”
“Stop freaking out. I’m going to be honest with you to prove I’m not your enemy.”
Not my enemy? Please. We must not have the same definition of that word.
“I gave Mathieu a new file a few days ago related to ‘my secret‘. He was probably kidnapped so they could force him to reveal what he knows.”
A violent headache grips me as I imagine Mathieu tied to a chair, blindfolded. He must be in a poorly lit, terrifying place.
He must be so scared, feel horribly alone, and pray someone will get him out of wherever he’s locked up.
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